


Birdsong

by Tune33



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tune33/pseuds/Tune33
Summary: Bodies sway across the dance floor as she croons along to the melody.  Detective Gordon had felt sorry for her, she knew.  He'd thought of offering her a way out, a clean break from the dirty underbelly of Gotham city.  But she was not a caged bird, singing despite the suffering.  No, she was exactly where she wanted to be.  And as she raised her eyes to the balcony and met his dark stare, she couldn't help but smile.AU. Victor Zsasz/OFC. Slow burn-ish?





	1. Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> SO this is my first posting with this site. I fully admit that I only watched the first 2 seasons of Gotham (I swear I will eventually get around the watching the rest!) but I have had this story kicking about in my brain for a good long while now and finally decided to get it out. It will be completely AU- I'm not even going to try to follow the canon story line, you've been warned. It will be Victor Zsasz/OFC. It may eventually get smutty (and will most definitely get violent, thank you Victor) and I will update the tags as needed. I have no beta, and I have an extremely hectic RL so I can promise no time-table on updates. It will also be very song-oriented. Hope you enjoy!

Hallelujah 

                The backrooms of the Iceberg Lounge were bustling.  Cooks were shouting over the din as steam filled the air, waitresses sorted menus and dishware, busboys ran here and there on the orders of those above them.  The prominent night club wouldn’t open for another 2 hours, but already the staff was anticipating the usual Friday night crowds. 

                The front room, in contrast, was full of a hushed sort of silence.  It wouldn’t last of course. Soon the bartenders would be taking stock, bottles clinking as they organized and hostesses would be flitting from table to table lighting candles and straightening table cloths.  For now, though, it was a place of peace. 

                Into this peace came the first few bars of melody, slowly drawn out on the grand piano that sat centered on the front stage.  Victor paused in the doorway, quietly observing the woman at the keys as she lent her voice to the notes. 

                _I heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don’t really care for music, do you?_

Her black nails glinted as they caressed the keys.  He’d noticed that she was often here before the rest of the band, eyes closed as she crooned. 

                _Your faith was strong but you needed proof_

_You saw her bathing on the roof_

_Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_

He’d thought her pretty, when he allowed himself to think of her at all.  Her dark hair was often left cascading down her back, begging for fingers to wrap themselves in it.  He dug his hands farther into the pockets of his suit pants, leaning against the doorframe.

                _And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

A small smile quirked at the corners of his own lips, as he mouthed the Hallelujahs with her.  His dark eyes never left her form as she swayed back and forth with the music.  He wasn’t sure how she would react if she knew how often he watched her like this.

                _I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch_

_Love is not a victory march_

_It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah_

He recalled how Don Falcone had insisted that Oswald take her and her band for the Lounge.  She had been one of his prides, given to his successor.  Victor given for his skill, Butch given for his management, and _Her_ , given for her sirens call.

_And remember when I moved in you_

_The holy dark was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

She’d done well in her new position.  The Band was versatile enough to appeal to a wide variety of clientele.  She’d managed to talk Butch into themed nights; jazz nights on Thursdays had gone surprisingly well.  Falcone had never let Fish get her hands on The Band, had kept them for his own higher end clubs and private parties. Victor was often thankful for that.  Fish Mooney would have ripped them apart, but The Band flourished under Oswald’s often lax control. 

_It’s not a cry you can hear at night_

_It’s not somebody who’s seen the light_

_It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah._

The sharp sound of his clapping rung out as the last note faded from the air.  Her startled eyes shot to where he was making his way farther into the room.  Part of him wanted to preen as her shoulders relaxed upon noticing who had disturbed her pre-performance ritual. 

                “Mr. Zsasz,” her smile pure sweetness, “I hadn’t realized anyone was out here.”

                “Couldn’t help but stop to listen,” he’d reached the stage by then, though he made no move to join her on it.  “Haven’t heard you sing that one before.”

                “Ah, I don’t have the skills to sing that one for public consumption.  It’s a lovely warm-up though, helps me stretch out my range.”  She’d taken her hands off the piano in order to fold them delicately in her lap.  The smile she graced him with always left him wanting more.  It was one of her charms, he supposed.  She never seemed to care if the person she was talking to was a lowly busboy, a well-known politician…or a feared hitman.  The sweetness was always the same. 

                “Sounded more than alright to me,” he responded with a shrug.  Her eyes lit up as her smile widened at the compliment.  Gods, he loved the little blush that spread across her cheeks as she cast her eyes down demurely.  When she was performing, the confidence she exuded on stage was hypnotizing.  One-on-one, however, she fell back into the shy little song bird he’d first been introduced to years ago.

                “Will you be around tonight?  We’re going to break out a couple new pieces that we’ve been working on.”  He wanted to reach out and tip her head up so that she would look at him properly.  The under-the-lashes glance she gave him was wreaking havoc on his self-control.  He settled for sending her a smirk, eyes probing.

                “I’ll be around,” hand gesturing vaguely towards the upper balconies where Oswald usually entertained guests, “Have a good night, Birdie.”

 

                As he strode from the room, he just caught her whispered “Thank you, Mr. Zsasz”.  His resolve was cemented.  Victor was going to make her his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Hallelujah"   
> Artist: Leonard Cohen


	2. Style

Style

                She had already changed out of her street clothes and was settled onto a stool in front of the vanity by the time the rest of The Band tramped into the suite of dressing rooms Oswald had so graciously set aside as theirs.  Bags were thrown onto chairs and drawers flung open as the energetic group began to get ready for the night’s performance, chattering away as they did so.

                The Band had been together for nearly 5 years now, and was comprised of four members.  The twin brothers, Petyr and Yuri, were some of the most talented musicians she had ever met.  They could switch seamlessly from instrument to instrument- guitar, bass, saxophone, trumpet, piano, violin.  Their tall, lanky forms were always more graceful when performing.  They’d grown up as runners for Falcone, message boys and look-outs who were good at avoiding the law but had spent their free time learning to play anything they could get their hands on.  One of the dressing rooms was filled entirely with instruments of all kinds, brought out and dusted off depending on what type of music they would be performing that night.

                Roxanne spent most of her time behind the drum set.  She loved the nights they did a more modern set, her wild energy lending itself to the heavy beats that kept the crowds gyrating on the dance floor.  Like the boys, she was a product of Gotham’s criminal caste.  Her mother had tended bar in some of the seediest joints and Roxy had grown up slinking around back rooms and parlors.  She’d spent much of her childhood fading into the background, but as an adult she thrived on being the center of attention.  Upon first meeting people were always surprised that she was not The Band’s lead singer. Of course, she could rock some wicked vocals but no one could outdo Birdie. 

                She plopped down on the stool next to her, watching as Birdie carefully lined her eyes with black.  In the mirror, the two of them were a study in contrast.  Roxy- with her dark skin and her bright white hair and a vivacious personality that lit up a room no matter what she was doing.  Birdie- with her pale complexion and dark locks, who spent most of her time quietly smiling….until she was on stage at least.  Roxy waited until the pencil was no longer close to her eye before she nudged her bandmate’s shoulder.

                “Ready to bust out some T.Swift tonight?” Her grin of excitement was infectious and made Birdie laugh.

                “I don’t know how you guys convinced me of this one,” she responded with a good-natured eye roll.  Friday nights were usually filled with a particular crowd.  Young professionals who were looking to drink away the work week would flock to the Iceberg, enjoying the high class feel with a splash of danger that came with patronaging the infamous night club. 

                “Can’t sing it without the proper shade,” Roxy teased, plunking a tube of lipstick down on the vanity. 

                “There’s no way I can pull that color off!” protested Birdie, opening up the cap to glance at the brilliant red with trepidation.

                “Nonsense,” her concerns were brushed aside as Roxanne stood to finish preparing, “Live a little!”  She ignored the glare she was given and instead turned to chide the boys into hurrying up.  Birdie grimaced but began to apply the offending makeup anyways.  She’d learned over the years to trust Roxy’s fashion sense more than her own, and she knew that once she got up on the stage it wouldn’t matter anymore anyways.

                That’s the way it had always been for Birdie.  When it came to interacting with people, she knew she tended to be overly shy.  But when she got on stage…on stage nothing else mattered.  Once the lights were on her, and the faces of the crowd had faded into a blurred mass of humanity, that is when she felt the strongest.  When the beat was pumping in her chest and the melody was spilling from her lips, there was no where else she would rather be. 

 ____________________________________________________________________________________

 

                Victor had spent most of the night up in the balcony, his presence a reminder of power for the men who met with Oswald.  The conversations had been boring: orders and casual threats, the humdrum of running a criminal enterprise.  There had been no reason for him to do more than stand around slowly sipping his drink as he kept half his attention on the conversations behind him and half on the goings on below.  He didn’t bother trying to keep his eyes from straying to The Band as they kept the dance floor full with their music swimming through the air.  He did make sure to occasionally track over the rest of the crowd, certain that his girls were keeping an eye on the clientele.  They often doubled as security for the Lounge when there was no other work to be done. 

                He’d raised his eyebrows in surprise when they’d stepped out onto the stage and he’d seen the crimson splashed across Birdie’s lips.  She had a tendency towards smoky eyes and natural lips, this brightness out of character for her, although it made her no less attractive.  He kept his eyes on her as The Band took a short break between sets.  Roxanne and one of the brothers (he could never keep straight which was which) had bounded off the stage to make their way to the bar, but Birdie stayed seated at the piano sipping her water as she chatted with the other brother.  Victor could just make out the slight stain from her lips on the glass’s edge. Part of him wanted to lick it off of her, another part wanted to bathe those lips with a different shade of red.  The return of the band mates had the group settling into positions to begin the next set and Victor couldn’t help but focus his attention when Birdie stepped back up to the microphone.

                “Hey folks,” she greeted, smiling shyly at the shouted greeting she received in return from the tipsy crowd, “We’ve been working on some new tunes for you all, and we thought maybe we’d have a couple Taylor Swift fans in the house who would enjoy this next one.”  Her smile widened at the increased noise level as the patrons voiced their approval and her spine straightened confidently as the music began.

                _Midnight_

_You come and pick me up, no headlights_

_Long drive_

_Could end in burning flames or paradise._

Her voice had taken on a breathy quality that made his pulse jump, imagining it in under the cover of darkness with his hands on her skin.  The crowd below writhed in pleasure, some singing along to the song they heard so frequently from their car stereo.  

                _You got that James Dean, day dream look in your eye_

He’d been staring hard at her as she sang, and he almost jolted when suddenly she was staring back.

                _And I got that red-lip, classic thing that you like_

Ah, this is the reason then.  She’d painted her lips for this song specifically.  He couldn’t help the small smirk that graced his features, and was pleasantly surprised when she smiled back in return.

                _And when we go crashing down, we come back every time_

_Because we never go out of style, we never go out of style_

When the song ended, he turned back to the conversation behind him, moving to station himself at Oswald’s shoulder.  For now, business was priority.  Afterwards…well afterwards he would show her just how much he liked that red-lip, classic thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Style"  
> Artist: Taylor Swift


	3. Whispered Thank Yous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorious salutations to anyone who is still around! Many thanks for the comments and kudos, you're all beautiful people. Apologies for the wait. I knew what I wanted to happen in this chapter but I just couldn't seem to make.the.words.GO. Doing some work on my other story finally broke through my block and got the juices flowing so you guys get to benefit!
> 
> TW: attempted assault, canon typical violence.

Victor was annoyed.  Oswald’s last meeting of the night had taken more time than anticipated.  The man had been stubborn and had required…persuading.  Normally Victor would have enjoyed such an opportunity but tonight he had had _plans._   Plans that involved crimson lips over a sweetheart smile.  He mentally added the man to his running list.  Lou Verras had a job to do for the Boss…after that, he was a dead man.  _Zombie._

                The Band had retired from the stage almost an hour ago and he had little hope that they were still hanging around as he stalked down the halls towards their dressing rooms.  Grumbling as he went, he couldn’t help but think of all the different ways he could make Lou pay for the delay.  His gait slowed as he approached his goal, hearing faint noises coming from the open door.  Murmured voices, the shuffling of feet, a thump, a muffled gasp.  On silent footsteps he positioned himself to look in, gloved hands clenching as he did so.  Two bodies were pressed close together against the vanity.  The man’s broad shoulders blocked most of the woman, but Victor would recognize her anywhere. 

                _Who is he to be allowed to touch her?_ His own question raged furiously in his head before a sharp movement caught his eye.  Her hand was weaving, searching for something on the dresser top. _Pocket knife,_ he realized as he noted the item just barely out of her reach.  Perhaps this man was not ‘allowed’ to touch her at all.

                He made certain to scuff his shoes against the floor as he stepped fully into the room, causing the intruder in front of him to jump in surprise, although he didn’t remove himself from Birdie.  Victor folded his arms across his chest as he eyed the scene in front of him, taking in the sight of the beefy hand pressing against her pale throat.  Her wide, golden eyes caught his and she forced out a strained, breathy “ _Victor”_ that made his stomach clench and had the cretin in front of her pasting on a fake grin.

                “Hey mate, ain’t nothin’ to worry about here, just close the door behind ya, yeah?” he had the audacity to greet cheerfully as he tried to get Zsasz to move along.  The only movement he received was the raising of one incredulous (and hairless) eyebrow. 

                “Looks to me that the girl is less than interested,” he drawled in return, the implication to let her go clear in his tone.  The guy chuckled as if they were two pals joking around, but he moved his hand until he was restraining Birdie from the back of the neck instead of the front.  _Small favors_.

                “Ah ya know how chicks can be, man.  Sometimes they just need a little chase.  She don’t really mean to be sending me off.”  Birdie stiffened as Victor’s own body language inexplicably relaxed.  _She thinks I’ll believe him_ , he realized with a mental sigh.  _As if I would leave her to this lout._   Hands now stuffed back into his pants pockets, he rocked back on his heels a bit as he stared straight into the man’s eyes to deliver his response with maximum impact.

                “I’m going to have to believe that she probably is trying to send you off, seeing as how you have your hands on my girl, after all.”   It was gratifying to see how quickly the man flung his hand off of her, taking a few quick steps away as if it would decrease his mistake.

                “Hey man, hey, she never said that,” he attempted to back track, “never mentioned you at all, I never would have made a move on her if I’d known,” he assured Victor, eyes wide and hands spread as if to prove his innocence.  Zsasz made a soft tsk’ing noise as he glided forward, ignoring the man completely as he reached out to run gloved finger tips over Birdie’s pale throat.  He could only imagine the bruises that would soon begin to show. 

                His eyes cut towards the intruder that was carefully inching away, the only sign of warning before his fist snaked out, catching the man’s cheekbone with a harsh jab.

                “I suggest you remove yourself,” he hissed, the idiot quickly scrambling out the door, leaving Victor alone in the dressing room with the little singer.  She was looking up at him now, eyes wide with a mix of emotions, the dark makeup that had been so carefully applied earlier this evening now smudged with wear.  He frowned at the fear in her eyes.

                “Are you alright?” he murmured the question, hands moving slowly so as not to startle her as they ran up her arms to settle on her shoulders.  Birdie nodded, attempting to clear her throat to speak only to break into a coughing fit at the pain and discomfort.  Victor’s jaw tightened but he worked to keep the anger from his expression.  It wouldn’t do for her to think he was angry with her.

                “I’ll get one of my girls to escort your home,” he continued gently, his fingers moving to brush a tendril of hair behind her ear, then traveling down the curve of her cheek, her jaw.  She opened her reddened lips to respond before frowning and closing them again, choosing to nod instead.  It was probably for the best.  If she had spoken, throat rough from the assault, he may have lost control of his temper completely.  He stepped away from her then, pulling out his cell to summon one of the Zsasz-ettes.

 In the few minutes it took her to gather the rest of her things together ( _purse, jacket, keys, phone, **pocket knife** )_, he had finished his conversation and the leather wearing redhead was already waiting in the doorway.  Birdie moved forward tentatively, coming to a stop when he reached out for her again.  She forced herself to look up into his dark eyes when he tipped her chin gently back, purposefully not staring at the smooth hairlessness of his face.  Some whispered that he shaved it all off, even his eyelashes, to be more terrifying than he already was but she had long suspected that it was a natural disorder that he wore with confidence. 

“Let Annette get you home safely,” he instructed, searching her eyes for something, she wasn’t sure what.  She only nodded in response again, giving him a wry half-smile of thanks that caused him to break into an almost boyish grin.  Gods, but she loved when he smiled.  He released his hold on her and she moved to the doorway, striding out into the hall alongside the redhead, confidence returning with the mercenary at her side.  As he watched them leave the building, his hands curled around the knife in his pocket… there was a zombie in need of his attention. 

 

* * *

 

                She pulled her car into the garage, headlights bouncing off the workbench in front of it as Annette’s motorcycle shut off in the drive way.  The redhead was already at the driver side door by the time the engine shut off.

                “Give me the keys so that I can check out the house before you enter,” she instructed the lounge singer, taking her protection assignment seriously.  All of Zsasz’s mercs knew how he felt about the little vocalist and none of them would have risked her getting injured on their watch.  She was glad when Birdie handed them over without argument, silently indicating which one would unlock the door to inside.  She was even more impressed to realize that the girl had waited inside the car ( _better chance to lock herself inside if necessary)_ until Annette gestured that she was safe to come out. 

                Birdie cleared her throat with a grimace when she approached her guardian.

                “Drink?” she offered, throat scratchy and tight.  The woman nodded in agreement and followed her back inside.  She took the time to casually glance around the house more thoroughly than she had on her first walk through as the girl puttered around the kitchen, endeavoring to make some tea for her poor throat.  After all, any information she could take back to Vic would be helpful, wouldn’t it?

                “I’m making tea, but you can feel free to help yourself to anything from the fridge or bar if you’d rather.  Or I can make you some coffee,” the raspy voice had her turning away from the mantle of pictures to return to the kitchen. 

                “Coffee would be great,” she agreed, settling on one of the counter stools, “and stop talking, you’ll just make it worse.”  The girl stuck her tongue out in playful disagreement but didn’t try to speak more. She brought the two mugs to the counter, one coffee one tea, along with the cream and sugar and spoons.  Neither made much noise as they doctored their drinks and she found herself almost surprised at the easy companionable silence they sunk into, enjoying the gentle warmth of the beverages and the soothing jazz that Birdie had flicked the kitchen radio onto.  By the time their drinks were done, Annette was gratified to see that much of the tension had drained from the singer’s frame.

                “Do you need me to stay the night?” she asked, her tone one of gentle concern. 

Birdie made a face and shook her head.  She’d be fine, didn’t need to be baby sat.  It’d been a shitty night, but hey, that was Gotham for you.  She’d lived here her entire life, and while the assault had been terrifying in the moment, it also wasn’t the first time some fan had gotten too handsy. _Thank god for Victor_ she thought. Annette just nodded in response, taking her at her word. 

“Gimme your phone,” she said instead, grabbing the device that Birdie slid over without hesitation, “I’ll give you my number.  You hear someone hanging ‘round outside, or you get concerned about anything, or you just want someone to walk you to your car after hours, you shoot me a text, got it?”  The singer gave her a grateful smile that left Annette feeling like some damn hero in a comic book.  Ok, so maybe she could see why Mr. Zsasz was so obsessed. 

The girl walked her to the door, and nodded when she was told to lock the door tight.  Annette stood on the porch until she heard the deadbolt slide into place.  As she strode down the walkway, she pulled out her phone where a text was already waiting from an unknown number.  She opened it to find a little bird emoji followed by a music note.  The next one chimed as she straddled her bike. 

_Thank you! <3_

She snorted and saved the number in her phone.  Maybe she’d see if Vic needed any help tying up that loose end.

 

* * *

 

The Band had been without their singer for three days.  They’d told anyone who asked that Birdie was sick with the flu, and would be back as soon as she was feeling better.  They’d been full of smiles and jokes, their music still good, still upbeat even with the lack of their leader.  But Victor felt their eyes on him when he wasn’t looking and knew that they knew the truth of what happened. 

On the fourth day he’d been cleaning his guns ( _unreliable things, but useful at times)_ at one of the tables in the lounge before opening when he heard her soft tread behind him.  She leaned over his shoulder ( _hair a cloud of silk as it slid down beside him, the smell of lavender filling his senses)_ and gently laid a newspaper on the table.  He didn’t have to read the article to know what it said when he glanced down to see a picture of the man who had attacked her in her dressing room.  He knew it would talk about how he’d been found in a back alley, throat slit deep, his hand placed over his own neck in a parody of how he had held onto her delicate flesh.  He could feel the scab of the tally mark he’d placed with precision on his own forearm, pressing deep enough to scar, his breath hissing out in pain and ecstasy as the blood welled up around the knife’s blade.  A diagonal slash across four other healed marks.  A scar he would remember forever had been made _for her_. 

Her fingers brushed across his back, a caress that tightened his muscles in anticipation.  When she whispered her thanks, hot breath dancing across his ear, he closed his eyes in longing.  She’d left him there, moving out of the room as swiftly and silently as she’d entered and he stared down at the paper in front of him.  A slow, wicked smile stretched across his lips, eyes sparking with barely restrained glee.  He’d told the man that night, declared in the room.  Now he would make sure that the whole world knew. _She was his._


End file.
